Tristan O'Donnell has money, women, and all the luxuries that cold hard cash can buy. Tristan's been sucking sunshine right from the monogrammed silver spoon his life was served up on since the day he was born. And quite frankly, he wouldn't want it any other way. He's his mother's pride and joy, his father's right-hand-man, and the envy of every guy around. All Tristan has to do is flash his million dollar smile, give his trademark wink, and he gets what he wants, when he wants, anytime he wants.

Leah Franchetti grinds her fingers to the bone; sculpting, painting, recreating treasures from trash—the very sentiment that defines her life. Her inventive, vindictive, lucrative, and seemingly unforgivable plan allowed her to shortcut her way into the life she always imagined, owning an art gallery, surrounding herself in the comfort of her passion and dreams.

When circumstances force Leah and Tristan to come face-to-face with the past and with Leah’s devious manipulation, truths come flooding forth, destroying those in the present and possibly jeopardizing both of their highly anticipated futures.

Can Tristan overcome Leah’s slander and deception—despite how dangerously close he comes to losing the one thing he can’t go without—money? Will Leah be forced to come clean, knowing she’ll have to live her life with the one thing she can’t go without—her dignity?

Rushing out of Chet O’Donnell’s office, angrily and haughtily, I face-plant straight into a strong, hard chest, covered in a wool, cable-knit sweater, smelling of expensive cologne. People always say that the sense of smell is the most powerful sense, triggering memories and feelings clearer than any of the other four senses combined. Just one smell, one inhalation of that warm, sexy designer cologne and my insides burn, ignite with intense desire and longing. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No. No. No.

“I’m…I’m…I’m…” I stammer, backing up, dropping my head, and looking straight at the ground in humiliation.

“I’m…I gotta go,” I mumble, sidestepping out of his way, and heading straight for the elevator. I push the button repeatedly, knowing damn well my actions won’t speed up the elevator’s arrival.

Tristan runs to catch me, just as I eye the stairwell and bolt for the door. “Leah! Wait!” he yells; the “wait” is muffled by the sound of the door slamming behind me. I run down only one flight of steps and escape onto the twentieth floor, knowing that Tristan O’Donnell would chase me the entire way down the stairs—if seeing and talking to me were his goals. Tristan O’Donnell always gets what he wants. Always.

Hoping that Tristan doesn’t check the video monitors, I walk down the hallway to the other set of stairs and down to the first floor, exiting O’Donnell Industries. Once I hit the street, the winter sun reflecting off the snow burns my eyes. I squint at the pain of the brightness, knowing the sting of my tears has nothing to do with the shining, searing light.

Who is Angelisa Stone?

Angelisa Stone is a typical Midwestern wife and mom, frazzled by parenting and housework, and overwhelmed with sports schedules, doctor appointments, and three-dimensional creative projects due “tomorrow morning.” Stone dreams of white sandy beaches, clear-blue waters, and Midori coladas in hand, but realizes that her loving husband and four not-so-perfect children are her real dreams-come-true. Writing and reading are her passions, and she hopes (and prays with her fingers tightly crossed) that readers will find enjoyment and escape through her words and characters. Stone's first novel, Can't Go Home, is available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble now.

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